Farewell
by tamiiland
Summary: In which we see how the remaining twin struggles to get over the sorrow that death provokes. A story about George... and the shadow of Fred.


Read'n'Review—it feeds the muse!

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><p><strong>Farewell<strong>

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><p><strong>Can I see thee stand<strong>

What was this suffocating oppression in his chest? How could he get rid of it? Perhaps push away all the pain and lock it up inside a cage? To think that smiling now seemed so wrong to him, so surreal and bitter… What was happening with his life? Had it come crumbling down little by little without him noticing, or had it been a spontaneous incident?

George felt the overwhelming feeling take over his broken heart again, and he trembled as the salty tears trailed down his cheeks. He pressed his forehead against that of his deceased twin and cried.

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><p><strong>On the looming land?<strong>

The funeral was darker than death itself. There was inconsolable weeping and mourning. Words of condolences were spoken every time George turned around. Everyone tried their best to be nice and supportive, and they all promised to attend the burial. He appreciated it. However, he only wished to be left alone.

Still, he stayed until there was no one else. Not even his mother had been able to stand for so long next to her dear son's coffin.

"I love you," Molly had murmured brokenly before leaving, her sobs echoing behind her.

He appreciated the fact that she had tried.

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><p><strong>Dost thou wave with thy white hand<strong>

George opened the faucet and ducked his head under the cool stream of water. His tears quickly got mixed in the liquid torrent. When he straightened, he paid no mind to his dripping hair, grabbed a vase, and filled it with water. He then placed a bouquet of roses and daffodils into it.

A token of their condolences.

Mechanically placing the flowers on the table, the redhead sat and frowned at them. To him, they were nothing but a cruel reminder of the reality that attempted against _his_ reality. George shook his head. _Their _reality, which now was only his.

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><p><strong>Farewell, farewell?<strong>

"Brother," George suddenly wailed, stumbling forwards and sinking onto the floor, scratching the grave that kept his twin's name neatly craved upon. "B-brother."

Someone touched his shoulder, and he shoved the hand away. He did not want to be pitied; no one in that burial understood his pain nor tried to. They were all very comfortable in their role as onlookers.

"I'm sure he misses you, too." Ginny murmured, placing her hand in his shoulder again.

This time, he leaned into her touch, and could not help but need to use a quotation. "Well, you can't say fairer than that."

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><p><strong>I could think that thou art near<strong>

Days accumulated, and before George knew it, he had already survived half a year without Fred, but felt lonelier than ever.

Moving around packed boxes with contents that once had been half his and now he just wanted burned and gone, George found something flat and tall leaning against the flat's wall. It was covered by a sheet, and he removed it swiftly.

There stood a mundane mirror, and inside he saw Fred. He reached out slowly, trembling, and finally pressed himself against the indifferent cool surface. George's chest felt painfully warm. His reflection; his twin. Unreachable.

_But he's there._

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><p><strong>Thy sweet voice is in mine ear<strong>

Reading yet another document, George realised that Weasley Wizarding Wheezes was losing its commercial power due to the lack of a partner. He crumpled the report and tossed it into the trash bin angrily. He did not need a new associate to keep the business running; he did not feel like finding a substitute for Fred. Besides, such a person did not exist. So he simply ignored the matter, even after he became an insomniac and lost appetite. One day, however, he found a picture between his paperwork, and he felt Fred whispering sweet solutions to him from Heaven: Ron.

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><p><strong>Farewell, farewell!<strong>

Almost all the boxes were gone. It was shocking to see how spacious the flat was after George had gotten rid of practically everything they had owned. He had only kept the most precious things, and the rest had been thrown or given away.

Opening a small box, he stared at an enchanted Galleon that was not his. He held it, rubbing the lint from the shiny surface, and stared. Retreating to the exit, George looked back at the room and remembered Fred, but he was only a memory.

He put the Galleon in his pocket and closed the door.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> _Farewell_ by Sydney Thompson Dobell provided the subtitles.


End file.
